The Table

This is my newest short story.  I wrote it for my English class but I liked it so I thought I'd share it.  Keep in mind that it's a rough draft, but any comments are welcome.  Thanks for reading and enjoy!

The table. Always the table. The woman brushed her long brown hair back from her brown eyes, adjusting uncomfortably in her seat. She looked at the tall, thin man in line to get coffees. She sighed, and tapped her long, peach-colored fingers on the glass top of the table, getting some annoyed looks from people sitting nearby. She folded her arms and smiled slightly as the man approached, placing a Styrofoam cup of steaming coffee in front of the woman. He then placed his own coffee on the table and sat down, his green eyes piercing her very soul. She looked down at her coffee to avoid his stare. They were silent for several minutes, both growing more nervous by the second. Finally the woman broke the silence.

“The table,” she said quietly.

“What about it?” the man asked, not moving his eyes away from her face.

“Always the table.” The man didn't answer, finally looking away from her. She looked up to see him stirring his coffee and taking a sip. She sighed, taking a sip of her own coffee. “You can't just sit here,” she finally said. “The table. There's something wrong.” The man sighed too, not saying a word. “Fine,” she said angrily. “Don't tell me. I know there's something wrong, because we only sit at a table when something is wrong.”

“I met someone,” the man mumbled. The woman blinked, confused by his words.

“What does that even mean?” She leaned back in her chair, fighting the angry tears that threatened to run out of her eyes.

“I met someone,” the man repeated. “She's a therapist, I've been seeing her for about two weeks.”

“Oh,” the woman laughed with relief. “I thought you meant you met someone. Why didn't you tell me you've been seeing a therapist?”

“The table,” the man reminded her. The woman looked at him, confused again, then her full lips made an “o” as she realized what he was telling her.

“The table,” she whispered. “What...how...what happened?”

“We haven't done anything, but I'm falling in love with her. I am so sorry, Jane.” The woman called Jane nodded, looking down at the glass table.

“What's the therapist's name?”

“Linda. Honestly, Jane, I was having issues that I don't want to talk about, and a friend suggested I see her. I didn't realize this would happen. I am so sorry. I still love you, Jane, but Linda is...I don't know. She just seems so right for me.”

“It's okay,” Jane said, grabbing his hand. “I understand. You don't have to explain anything to me. I guess this is the last table, isn't it?”

“I guess so,” the man answered. “Jane, I never meant to hurt you.” Jane shrugged.

“You hurt me when you asked me to sit at the table.” She sat up, grabbed her coffee, and left, leaving the man feeling guilty and confused.